Routine
by pratz
Summary: What is a marriage then, if not a union of two committed individuals? A follow-up on Normal, but can be read alone. Future fic.


**Routine**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: RIB's.

Summary: What is a marriage then, if not a union of two committed individuals?

A/N: A kind of follow-up piece on _Normal_. A short piece before I update _The Ties that Bind_. Do kindly read and review.

-.-.-.-

Lucy is seventeen when her parents decides to get a divorce.

Hollywood isn't surprised, though. That she knows too well. With Mom being a music magnate, diva extraordinaire, and America's sweetheart, their little family has constantly been on watch. And so has each and every banter her parents had. Media watchdogs hunt pictures of them hungrily, and Lucy is kind of used to that no matter how annoying those people are.

She sighs a little when the door closes and all the noises die out. She swears all the flashes will surely blind her someday. If only those guys behind the camera can be as awesome as her favorite photographer aunt. Why can't they just leave her family alone? Every wound takes time to heal, after all.

Dad takes the divorce harder.

(Mom recovers. Slowly, but she does.)

She sighs again.

-.-.-.-

_Lucy learns to never eavesdrop again the hard way._

'_Look, I'm sorry for calling at this hour. I've just got a hunch that Rachel is not well. Does she have a migraine again?'_

'_She's fine. It's not something aspirin can't cure.'_

_Dad sounds more irritated than grateful, Lucy thinks._

'_Oh. Okay.'_

'_And she doesn't need you to always baby her, your know.'_

_There was that deafening silence. 'There's no need for jealousy.'_

'_You always know when she has a migraine at three in the morning even when you're continents away. Of course I'm jealous!'_

_There was that deafening silence again, thicker and choking._

'_She chose to marry you. That should be enough.'_

-.-.-.-

Mom is home when she returns from her morning jog.

(Well, that's not Mom's car in the garage, but she's familiar with that monsoon gray Audi.)

Due to her work in the record company and the latest American Idol deal, Mom often chooses to sleep in her apartment in the downtown. Lucy doesn't complain about it. She's used to being on her own, and it doesn't necessarily mean being lonely. Though apart, Mom is always loving and Dad is attentive to her. And she has friends whom she can always invite to come over. A divorce is hard, but it's not the hardest thing in the world. People survive from a divorce.

So does Lucy.

She comes to her house from the backyard—damn those papz who force her to sneak into her own house.

There are two mugs on the kitchen counter, the residue telling her that it is from Mom's favorite latte of which only one person knows the exact composition. From the kitchen, she can hear a low noise from the TV in the living room, so she heads there. Mom is asleep on the couch, wearing boyfriend jeans and a Yale hoodie. Lucy loves this side of Mom best—the one with worn, washed-out clothes, stripped of her star façade and completely relaxed.

With her favorite photographer aunt on the far edge of the couch.

Mom's feet are on her lap. Lucy watches as her aunt's fingers massage Mom's soles and ankles gently. She gives the best massage, Lucy knows. Just the perfect pressure. Just the perfect skills. Just the perfect person.

Lucy clears her throat to announce her presence.

'Oh hi, baby girl. Your mom called me to pick her up from the office this morning.'

Lucy wants to raise her eyebrows, because, really. Who will call even before six in the morning to ask to be picked up from work? Who will not think twice and just do as asked?

Apparently, these two will.

'Have you had breakfast?' Lucy asks. 'I'm thinking of making toasts. Bacon as usual?'

Her aunt nods, smiling. She's the prettiest woman in the world, Mom always says, and she's so much prettier when she smiles. 'And freshly grilled green cardamom for your mom. Oh, and she likes it when you cut the toast in triangle shapes.'

It's not a surprise that her aunt knows, Lucy admits.

-.-.-.-

'_You love her.'_

'_As much as I love you,' her aunt acknowledges._

'_No, I mean you _love_ her.' She takes a deep breath. This is her mother she is talking about. It should feel strange. It should be strange. But the truth is that she doesn't feel anything. So she asks, 'Don't you?'_

_She is met with that deafening silence, and she's about to give it up when she hears her aunt's quiet answer._

'_Yes.'_

-.-.-.-

'_She loves you.'_

_Mom's spine stiffens, and that is enough of a telltale for her._

'_She loves you, too, baby girl.'_

_She wants to rolls her eyes—but Mom won't see it unless she turns around. 'Mom, she always knows where you are. She comes to your office at freaking three in the morning when you call her unless she's off somewhere chasing grizzlies or orcas. She knows how to make your favorite latte—very strong espresso with condensed milk and stuff. She personally dealt with that photo agency when you had your first hostile feud with the papz. She's there whenever you're breaking down when it's your wedding anniversary and you mourn for things long lost. Damn it, Mom, she sat there and just listened to your crying when Dad signed the paper! She—she,' she wants to sob, 'she even came to my PTA meeting last week on your behalf when you're off to the base to—to see Dad.'_

_(She's really Mom's daughter, isn't she? Just look at how good she is at listing.)_

_And she's really Mom's daughter for being able to see it all._

_Then it dawns on her._

'_And you know it.' She finally gives in to sobbing. 'That's why you named me after her.'_

_This time, Mom does turns around, and Lucy is frightened to realize that she does have it in her the capability to dislike Mom when she hears Mom's pained, barely audible answer._

'_Yes.'_

-.-.-.-

'_I just want to give,' her favorite photographer aunt says. 'And I'm happy she takes it.'_

_-.-.-.-_

_'__She never asks from me,' _Mom says. '_So I take.'_

-.-.-.-

Lucy is seventeen when she knows for the first time how painful it is to wait.

-.-.-.-

P.S. : monsoon gray is really the name Audi gives for the color of Dianna's car.


End file.
